


Squidward'll Be Okay

by koboli



Category: SpongeBob SquarePants (Cartoon)
Genre: Depression, Gen, It's definitely the intention despite not being overt, M/M, Minor Angst, Unironic Squidbob, but currently squidy's just having a rough time of it, if i continue this squidward and spongebob WILL hold hands and it WILL be cute, therapy fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-11-08 21:55:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20842634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/koboli/pseuds/koboli
Summary: Squidward's mental state takes a dip in a bad direction, and he possibly gets pushed into doing something good for himself.





	Squidward'll Be Okay

**Author's Note:**

> haha first spongebob fanfic, let's be gay and have feelings, okay?

A bad day, a bad week, a bad month, almost a bad year. He's long since lost any taste for bemoaning his situation. Squidward's theatrics, as second-nature as they are, have been stymied down. His reactions range from hums in mild annoyance, to a dismissive sigh. He shows up to work every day, attends his post, and goes home. He says what he needs, to communicate with customers, to demand his paycheck, to ask Spongebob to quiet down (not very kindly, either).

It's hard to say the squid is irritable, though, because lately even Spongebob's daily adventures don't draw much of an emotional reaction from Squidward. He's mostly destitute, fading in and out of the world around him. Bringing misfortunes onto himself with his attitude, which only get piled onto his soiled luck in general. He can't see any good, which it's true sometime's he'll be dramatic about his depression - which is very real, but only briefly talked about during his check-ups. Internal embarrassment held him back from discussing it any deeper.

Usually, there's a glimmer of good off in the distance that Squidward can look forward to. A recital, a vacation, a shift without Spongebob, but Mr. Krabs has been locking himself in his office more often, leaving the two of them to maintain house. Squillium Fancyson recently won another prestigious award for his Clarinet play - while Squidward can't even get a venue to book him. He loves his clarinet, but as talented as he believes himself to be, it's hard to continuously face the musical world with no validation.

So he doesn't play it. He doesn't bother turning the TV on anymore, because he doesn't watch it. Spongebob has finally gotten the picture and stopped inviting Squidward on his boneheaded little adventures. Which was great, until Squidward realized Spongebob and Patrick were the only two seacreatures who want to spend time with him in the first place. Even his mother had been kicking him out lately.

From his own point of view, his life is astoundingly depressing.

It's the realization, one day at work, that he's just as blind to his incredible qualities as anybody else. As boastful as he tended to act in the recent past, he can't see it in himself. He feels like every insult that's been thrown at him in his life. It's startling, to him, to be so aware of his own failings. He puts his head down on the cash register and, with little effort, he cries. Almost soundless, if not for his hitching breaths. The metal is cool against his face, which feels warm and uncomfortable. As if his mere existence was embarrassing to him. He leans in applying hard pressure, even though the buttons hurt a bit.

"Woah, hey Squidward, Mr. Krabs isn't going to like seeing you sleeping on the job!" Spongebob says cheerfully, through the window.

Squidward sighs, and relaxes the pressure on the cash register - the money draw pops out and hits him square in the stomach. He's sent reeling a bit, after shouting in pain. He wants to feel angry at the register for hurting him, but he's numb about it. Just another blow in Squidward's life of hard knocks.

The cashier looks at his frycook before realizing he hasn't wiped his face, or blinked the tears out of his eyes. Spongebob's eyebrows bunch in worry, but the Manager's Office door slams open, and Mr. Krabs is scuttling to the rescue of his beloved Betsy the Cash Register who was being accosted. "Out of me way, Mr. Squidward!" He shouts, manhandling his employee out of the boat, and situates his machine. "Don't worry, baby, papa's got you."

Squidward can't even muster a 'whatever'. He's thinking it, so why can't he say it? Gosh, he feels more pathetic than ever. He looks down at his feet and listens to the squeak of Spongebob's shoes as he exits the kitchen.

"Um, Squidward," The little sponge's voice isn't discreet at all. "Why are you crying, are you okay?" But as loud as he is, his innocence shines through. His question tinged with genuine worry. It's too much for him to really handle, Spongebob cares so much it's almost physical.

How awful is he, that he's getting some sort of weird validation from the one person he was cruelest too.

Squidward's eyes once again burn with unintentional tears, but he takes a shaky breath. "Yes, Spongebob," He says sarcastically, "I am just fine." He looks anything but fine.

Before Spongebob can protest, having not understood the layer of sarcasm as always, their boss pipes in with a "Yeesh, Mr. Squidward, you're looking worse than usual!" He has a slight laugh in his tone, despite it not really being the time, and he picks up on his faux paw a few moments too late. He rubs the back of his neck with a claw, and shrugs with his other arm. "Is it something you want to talk about?"

He's met with a blank, unimpressed stare from his cashier.

Spongebob, who's been worrying his hands together, steps in front of Mr. Krabs. "If you don't wanna talk about it with us.." He looks off to the side, shyly. "Maybe you could talk to someone else.. Like a professional." The sponge offers a small smile, like he's hopeful or something.

For the first time in what feels to Squidward like forever, he feels something beyond hopelessness. And it's not good. It's white-hot, a contradicting feeling of rejecting the cook's idea and a small, small part of him that's been dying for such a thing singing out. His preconceived notions on the sort of people who go to therapy seriously getting in his way to see the rational in Spongebob's words.

"I don't need YOU, of all the hooligans under the Sea, to tell me I need therapy." Squidward bites out. Conveying emotion in his tone after a period of monotonous lilting. He glares at the frycook, trying to convey as much hate as he possibly can in his eyes. Spongebob looks.. sad, and Squidward tries to convince himself it makes him feel good. "Everyone needs be in therapy, but you're not gonna see ME dole out the little money I have just to have some pro-fesh-onal tell me things I already know." He waves a tentacle dismissively.

"Now if you will excuse me," Squidward says, trying to redeem his own dignity as the high of emotion makes him slightly self-aware. "I am going to take my break." He sniffs, and walks towards the exit.

Spongebob and Mr. Krabs let him go with a very pointed silence. He spares a glance at Spongebob even though he knows he shouldn't, his neighbor's looking at his shiny shoes dejectedly. He probably can't even stand to look at him anymore, and Squidward can't blame him.

In an effort to keep the buzz of emotional energy he's displaying, Squidward spends the first half of his walk home digging up all his unpleasant memories of Spongebob. All the peace he's shattered, all the activities he's butted in on and ruined, all the pain and torment he's forced Squidward through. The needlessly annoying antics, senseless destruction of property, complete disregard for his privacy. He picks every moment apart, and dwells and dwells and dwells.

And eventually, wanders to how he could avoid so much conflict with his neighbors if he'd not been so manipulative, or had been more patient with them. Shown a little more compassion, been even the slightest bit more kind, maybe they wouldn't have pushed him so far. Maybe they'd still be inviting him out for the antics that bring a little bit of excitement to the food service worker's life.

Squidward makes it home, and sits alone. He can't stop imagining the genuine worry etched into Spongebob's face. The dejection in his shoulders when the squid told him off. He drags himself to the front of his computer screen, scowling for a moment at his reflection before the monitor boots up. He's so unhappy with what he sees in himself, during this weird confrontation with himself, it actually scares him....

When he looks up therapists in his area that night, he doesn't call himself a hypocrite. He needs this.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading! i got hit with an overwhelming need for squidward getting help and maybe getting over some emotional roadblocks. 
> 
> I'm not sure if I'll actually continue this, but seeing as I need immediate validation after I write something I was forced to post it immediately after the hour i spent writing it. LOL!!


End file.
